I replaced the battery, turned the key, and the prop turned, ever so slowly, but it turned. When it made it through the first compression cycle, I heard the sweet sound of ignition. I had a spark. The engine didnt start but there was life somewhere. Lets try that again, I decided. Unfortunately, by this time, there was no juice left in the battery. I was totally frustrated. What was I going to do? It was a Saturday. There would be no maintenance help available. There was still that original battery that I had taken out earlier. It had been sitting for almost two hours. Maybe it had rejuvenated itself just a little. I figured, What do I have to lose? I swapped out the battery again, connected the cables, and proceeded to climb back aboard 78S.

It had barely enough energy to swing the prop two revolutions but two revolutions were all that was needed. The Lycoming sprang to life. I let the engine run long enough so that the oil temperature started to rise into the normal range and, at that point, declared the battery to be adequately charged. I shut down the engine, secured the battery cover, then gave Liz the spare battery and asked her to dispose of it. I kissed her and said my good-byes again! With my fingers crossed and a turn of the key, it started right up. As it had done previously, the nose wheel steering began to act up while taxiing towards the departure end of the runway. My corrective maneuver of struggling with differential braking at 2100 rpm in order to keep moving straight was drawing the attention of everyone within hearing range.

At the hold line, I performed the run-up and that was the only normal thing that had happened so far. For takeoff, I determined that a little soft-field technique would be in order. Hauling back on the yoke, the nose gear came off the ground and I was able to steer with the rudder. Of course, that must have elicited more stares and What in the world is that ^?@$#&% doing, comments. Climbing through clear, blue skies, I had departed Leesburg three and one half-hours later than planned but was finally on my way.

Although still bummed out, I appreciated the wonderful CAVU weather. It had a welcomed, calming effect. Upon landing in West Union, Ohio (AMT), at 3:10 p.m. after an uneventful flight, I wasted no time in taxiing up to the self-serve pump ($2.10/gal). I called FSS for an update on the weather and heard that things had already started to deteriorate. The low-pressure system was now well into Illinois and, with it, ceilings at 400 feet. As the temperatures were forecast to be one degree above freezing at 9,000 and a little warmer at six, I filed for 8,000 and would watch out for any precipitation at that altitude.

I departed AMT at 3:45 p.m. Once airborne, I gave Indianapolis Center a call and picked up my IFR clearance. Within 15 minutes, I was handed off to Cincinnati approach. The weather was still very much VFR but it was certainly going to change. My route of flight was to take me south of the Cincinnati class B, north of Louisville, Kentucky, north of Evansville, Indiana, and south of St. Louis, Missouri. Cruising along in calm skies at 8,000, I could see the front ahead in the distance. Nearing Evansville, 30 NM to the south of my route, I was sandwiched between solid cloud layers, was half way through the flight, and continued to enjoy a smooth ride. I estimated the bases above me to be at 14,000 feet and the tops of the layer below at 4,000. It was now becoming a bit dark outside so I turned on the strobe, navigation, and cockpit lighting. I had also thought ahead to have my flashlight handy, just in case.

About an hour later, it had become totally dark, I had picked up some light chop, and it had started to rain. The outside air temperature was still hanging in there at 41 degrees so there was no icing concern as yet. I was handed off to St. Louis approach. Things were not looking good for the big boys going into that city, as there was some holding required due to St. Louis ceiling being at 200 feet. I couldnt help but wonder, Whats in store for me?

There was another hand off to a different controller within St. Louis. He had me descend to 6,000 and I dutifully reported out of eight for six. This would be okay as it would keep me in warmer air but it didnt improve the ride any. In a pitch-black sky now, I was in light-to-moderate turbulence and continuous hard rain. For the first time flying in IMC, I had to turn off the strobes. They were reflecting the raindrops, which were quite large, and I was seeing what appeared to be stars. It gave the illusion of flying through the Milky Way. I couldnt see anything by looking down (no city lights). I turned on the landing light periodically to see if I was in cloud, as well as to see if anything was adhering to the plane (even though the temperature gauge registered +37F). I continued bouncing around and the rhythm of the rain pelting the fuselage became almost hypnotic. While doing an admirable job at holding altitude, I was admonishing myself for having to fight at maintaining a heading. Monitoring nearby AWOS and ASOS stations along the way, with reported visibilities from five to nine miles and ceilings from 600-800 feet, I became acutely aware of the challenge ahead. The hair was beginning to stand up on the back of my head. What I wouldnt have given for Liz to be with me, anyone to be with me. I longed for another set of eyes, someone to talk to and to share this experience.